My Sister Celia (24 page)

“I thought you realized that I
had
begun to see you in a different light.”

“Begun—yes. But in a very tentative and minor sort of way. I suppose, like all men in love, I was too impatient, Freda. I thought—forgive me for being such an egregious ass—that if I played around a bit
with Celia, you might—you might
—”

“You mean you were trying to make me jealous?” she said severely.

“I
’
m afraid so.”

“And what about poor Celia? What about the fact that you were giving
her
ideas? It was a disgraceful way to behave to her.”

“Oh, she knew. She agreed to it.”

“She
agreed
to it? You mean to say you—you cooked the whole thing up between you? You ought to be ashamed of yourselves,” declared Freda.

“We are. And we were very properly punished,” Larry confessed humbly. “But, at the same time,” he added, with a shrewd and amused glance at her, “I
’
d like to know just what you and Brian cooked up between you in the garden last night.”

“Oh
—”
She clapped her hand to her mouth
with an almost comical air of guilty recollection. Then she laughed ruefully and said, “How did you guess?”

“I don
’
t know. Just a sort of—similarity of pattern, I suppose.”

“You won
’
t ever tell Celia, will you?” she begged earnestly.

“He
’
s probably telling her himself at this moment,” Larry said philosophically. “Confessions are in the air. Anyway, my only concern is with my own foolish actions. Not his.”

“He thought it was such a good idea,” mused Freda thoughtfully.

“So did I. Which is your cue for saying how foolish men can be,” he told her with a smile.

“Celia and I were pretty silly, too—though I suppose with the best intentions.” Freda sighed slightly. “I can
’
t believe, even now, that her liking for you was just a pose.”

“Oh, it wasn
’
t entirely. At least, I hope not. That
’
s what made it so easy—and so difficult—for us all. We all liked each other enormously, only—as you said at the beginning of this conversation—that isn
’
t the same thing as wanting to marry someone.” She smiled.

“All right. Go on. We
’
d just reached the bit where you and Celia started a promising flirtation, in the hope of making me jealous.”

“It sounds frightful, put like that.”

“It is frightful,” she said. But she reached up and kissed him, to soften the severity of her words.

“There
’
s really not much more to explain. Although I see now it was a silly and dangerous idea, I suppose it might have worked if Brian hadn
’
t reared up and got jealous and spoiled everything.”

“He had a perfect right to get jealous and—and lay his own plans,” Freda declared warmly. “They were no sillier than yours.”

“I suppose you
’
re right. But why did you fall in with them?” he enquired curiously.

“I thought—he convinced me—that Celia
’
s real happiness lay with him. But she
’
d played around happily with so many men, and never realized how much Brian meant in her daily life. We both thought she was getting too serious with you—and for that mistake you have only yourselves to blame,” she added, on a note of loving severity.

“I know,” he admitted contritely. “But then you mean you were prompted solely by your affection for Celia and the thought of her ultimate happiness?”

“Yes, of course. What else?”

“For a moment I ventured to hope you were not entirely indifferent to the fact that, with Celia married to Brian, I would be unattached. But no doubt that
’
s just the last remnant of my chastened vanity asserting itself.”

“It
’
s nothing of the sort. It was a very natural hope to have in the circumstances,” Freda said quietly. “Only I just didn
’
t dare to believe that anything so wonderful as that could happen.”

“Oh, you sweet, undemanding little darling! I don
’
t believe you have the slightest idea how adorable and desirable you are,” he declared. And, as they had reached the terrace now, he stopped there and took her in his arms, to the infinite delight and approval of Ada, who was making a quite unnecessarily long business of rearranging the curtains in the drawing-room.

“Just as it was meant to be,” she murmured on a note of complete satisfaction, and presently she went away to tell Mrs. Maude that the tea-leaves had not lied.

Quite unaware of any benevolent observation, Freda and Larry went into the drawing-room, through the open french windows. And, sitting very close together on one of Miss Clumber
’
s rather
over life-sized
sofas, they retraced once more, in happy detail, the events which had at last led up to this satisfactory conclusion.

“You still haven
’
t explained the last bit,” Freda said presently, leaning her head contentedly against his shoulder. “Why, for heaven
’
s sake, did you and Celia finally arrange an engagement between yourselves? Was
that
a bit of masquerading too?”

“Oh, no. It was an attempt to salvage something from the wreck. We talked it over, admitted that all our planning had been based on false premises—or so we believed at that moment—and somehow came to the conclusion that, if we admitted that neither was more than a good second-best to the other, we had quite a chance of finding a modified form of happiness together. In some ways,” he added reflectively, “that was the silliest conclusion of the lot.”

“Oh, I don
’
t know,” Freda murmured. “At least it precipitated the scene which started us all telling each other the truth.”

“True,” he agreed. And for that wise observation he had to kiss her again. He was still doing so when a couple of shadows fell across them, and Celia and Brian stood in the doorway, looking at first a trifle sheepish and then—as well they might—conside
r
ably astonished.

It was Brian who recovered first and said,

“We
’
ve come to do a certain amount of difficult explaining. But it seems you
’
ll have a few things to explain to
us
too.”

“Freda darling, how marvellous!” cried Celia, characteristically cutting through any mere tangle of question and answer and explanation. “Does this mean that you and Larry—that Larry and you
—
?”

“It does,” said Larry gravely. “Sit down and let
’
s all sort out the complications of the last few weeks.”

‘
There
’
s nothing to sort out, if you and Freda love each other,” Celia declared, hugging and kissing her sister. “Brian and I are going to get married anyway—and now I suppose you are too.”

There was a moment
’
s silence. Then both the men laughed.

“Does it really arrange itself as simply as that?” Larry looked incredulous and amused.

“I think it does,” Brian said. “Celia always had a genius for going straight to the heart of the matter.” And he glanced fondly at his beloved.

At this precise moment, as though summoned by an unheard bell, Ada entered the room, carrying a tray of agreeably assorted bottles and glasses.

“I thought, sir,” she said, with ill-concealed satisfaction, “that there might be some toasts to be drunk.”

“Ada, you
’
re psychic!” declared her master admiringly.

“No, sir. Just observant,” Ada replied. “And, if it wouldn
’
t be out of place to offer my congratulations
—”

“Offer them all round, my dear girl,” said Larry genially, thus bringing a blush of mingled embarrassment and gratification to Ada
’
s slightly withered cheek. “We
’
re all engaged. It only remains to tell you which has chosen which.
”

“I know that, sir.”

“You do?” Larry looked admiringly again, and Brian murmured,

“That
’
s more than we did, an hour or two ago.”

“Observation again?” enquired Larry good
-
humouredly.

“
Yes, sir. And, if I may say so, Miss Clumber
would
be pleased.”

“I suppose she would.” Larry rubbed his chin, and grinned in a reflective, lightly moved way.

“And another odd thing, sir.” Ada went over and opened the door into the passage, and in stalked a small, confident-looking kitten, its tail erect, its disproportionately loud purr announcing its certainty of a welcome. “If that
’
s not the spit and image of Belshazzar, my name
’
s not Ada Dawkins.”

“I say!” Larry was visibly impressed, while both girls fell on their knees and began to make enticing noises to the kitten.

For a second only did the kitten hesitate. Then he rushed towards Freda and began to rub against her with signs of extravagant approval.

“He
’
s just like a tiny Belshazzar,” cried Freda. “He
must
be a great-great-grandson or something. Wherever did he come from?”

“That I wouldn
’
t know, Miss Freda,” said Ada in a mysterious sort of tone. “I can only tell you that he came crying round the back door two days ago, and nothing would persuade him that this wasn
’
t his home.”

“Intelligent little blighter.” Larry went over and tickled the kitten under the chin, and at the same time took the opportunity of dropping a kiss on Freda
’
s hair.

“He
’
s a stray, I suppose,” observed Brian sympathetically.

But Ada took coldly to this idea, and glanced at
Brian as though she found him a slightly lesser man than she had at first supposed.

“That
might
be, sir,” she admitted, but with great reserve. “But cats are strange creatures. They sometimes know things before we do.”

“What
do
you mean, Ada?
”
enquired Celia from her comfortable perch on the arm of Brian
’
s chair.

“If you don
’
t mind me saying so, miss,
he
knew which of you was Miss Freda, alike as peas though you are—and as pretty as pictures,” she added indulgently. “It
’
s my belief he knew Crowmain Court was going to have a mistress again, and all the place needed was a cat to complete things.”

Upon which confident statement, she made an excellent exit, leaving the others to drink a toast to their happiness and to Belshazzar the Second.

THE END